


That We Might Be Exactly Like We Were

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Everything just takes me back, to when you were there...'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sponsored by Adele's set at Glastonbury, and the song title and summary are taken from 'When We Were Young'.
> 
> Warnings / Content: Graphic aftermath of self-harm, suicidal ideation, angst

As soon as he stepped through the door, Harry knew it was not going to be a good night.  
  
The tension was thick and as he hung his coat up he began to sweat. It had been a long enough day already. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he could handle it.  
  
He loitered by the front door for some time listening for any giveaway sounds. Ron must have heard him come in but didn't shout out. Harry knew that was likely a bad sign. Ron never asked. Harry just _found_ him.  
  
The depression had consumed Ron and forced him beyond the realms of hopelessness that Harry had ever seen him in before. He'd known as teenagers that the redhead was crippled with self-doubt but in adulthood that had manifested into something far more dangerous: self-hatred.  
  
Though he'd tried to break through it each time he managed to pull Ron up out of the mire his boyfriend sank back in it, and he was very afraid that each of his next attempts would end up being the last.  
  
Shaking himself to try and steel himself for the night ahead, Harry walked the length of the hallway with his fists clenched.  
  
_You can do this. He needs you. He was there for you._  
  
He stepped into the kitchen. Ron was hunched at the table in the corner with his shoulders shaking.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
“Hey.” He felt ridiculous for saying it, but he had to announce himself somehow.  
  
Ron ignored him and Harry drew level with him, bending down to look at the redhead's face. It was completely sopping with tears. He looked at the table and saw a bottle of unmarked potion and a bloodied razor blade. He sighed.  
  
Instead of saying anything reproachful, he knelt down at Ron's side and tried to assess the damage. Another dozen cuts, deep and swamped with blood, up the underside of his forearm. Two were dangerously close to arteries on his wrist.  
  
Harry wordlessly summoned what he needed – a bowl of warm water, some wound cleansing potion and some cotton wool. He soaked a wool ball, doused it in potion and set to work cleaning up the blood and the cuts. Ron had been very precise again, he noticed.  
  
He worked in silence whilst Ron's entire body shook with his tears.  
  
The skin was already scarred – scarred by the odd brains in the Department of Mysteries when Ron was fifteen and scarred by every self-inflicted wound he'd made since. Harry had not been surprised, for some reason, when Ron had whispered that he cut himself in a pitch black bedroom, when Harry's thumb had found the scars for the first time.  
  
It never hurt any less to see it, however.  
  
The bowl of water slowly filled with pink-stained cotton wool balls and Harry eventually had to concede that there was nothing else left to clean. He banished the bowl to the sink and dragged himself off the floor to drop into the nearest chair. Ron was still shaking.  
  
“What can I do?” Harry asked finally, as feelings of ineptness and hopelessness washed over him.  
  
Ron seemed to radiate both miseries.  
  
“Nothing,” he muttered finally, reaching up to rub harshly at his eyes.  
  
Ron sniffed and sat up straight. He was clearly thinking about something, his eyes lingering over his evening's work. However, when he spoke again, it was with a voice much more like his usual one.  
  
“Good day at work?” he asked Harry, finally looking up to meet his gaze.  
“Uh...” Harry forced his brain to work, to try and take in the speed with which Ron had propelled from distraught to seemingly normal again. “Yeah. It was okay I think. Got in a bit of a sticky situation with some Muggles on Tower Bridge and that old hag in the archives yelled at me for breathing too loudly, but nothing major.” He forced himself to smile and shrugged his shoulders. “Erm. You?”  
  
Ron shrugged himself then and said, “Was all right, I s'pose.” He got up and wordlessly grabbed the bowl Harry has used to clean his arm with.  
  
He said nothing further as he emptied the water down the sink and dumped the sopping cotton wool in the bin. He left the bowl in the sink. Harry stared at his back.  
  
Though he absolutely preferred the version of Ron who was up and had stopped crying, it scared him that Ron could force himself back to normality so quickly. It wasn't healthy.  
  
“What d'you fancy for dinner?” Ron asked, staring into the cupboards he'd opened.  
  
Harry knew there was nothing inspiring in there because he'd forgotten to do the shopping the night before.  
  
“I've got an idea,” he said, standing up and crossing the kitchen to grab hold of Ron from behind. He locked his fingers over the redhead's stomach. “Why don't we go out for dinner? I owe you for our anniversary.”  
  
He winced. He was forgetting _a lot_ , it seemed.  
  
“I don't want to be around people,” Ron whispered.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and hid his face in Ron's back. Somehow, he always ended up suggesting the wrong thing.  
  
“But thank you for the offer,” Ron went on kindly. “Really.”  
“It's okay.” Harry kissed Ron's shoulder, but had to stand on tiptoes to do it.  
“Can we get a pizza?” Ron asked over his shoulder. “Because the only thing I want to do tonight is eat and be with you.”  
  
He turned without causing Harry to break his hold and pulled him close.  
  
For just a moment, Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself to take comfort in Ron's heartfelt, solid embrace.  
  
***  
It was late and he was beyond tired, but Harry didn't want to move. They'd done exactly what Ron had requested – ordered pizza and eaten it together with the Wireless on low in the background. Quidditch season was over, so they'd opted for one of the gentler networks with music soft enough for two men who were exhausted.  
  
Ron had fallen asleep with his head in Harry's lap, his body turned towards the back of the sofa so that his nose poked Harry's belly.  
  
Looking down, Harry gently stroked his boyfriend's hair and took in the look of peace finally relaxing the freckled brow.  
  
It had been going on for too long. At first he'd thought he could deal with it – Ron was just a bit depressed, after all – and given the war, was that really surprising? At least, that's how it had started. But the years had passed and their relationship had grown and Harry was faced with the terrifying reality that every time he kissed Ron goodbye, it might be the last time he would ever do so.  
  
He honestly didn't want to make it all about himself. Ron was going through hell. Harry saw it on his face every day, how much it hurt him to drag himself out of each depressive spell as he felt he ought to return to every day life. One day he wouldn't be able to do it. Harry could see it screaming towards them.  
  
Sniffing, he let his hand still and cupped the base of Ron's skull in his palm.  
  
He was absolutely fucking terrified that Ron might leave him to carry on alone. And he could think Ron selfish for considering it, but he'd seen the pain etched on his face for too long to truly believe it.  
  
When it came down to it, who wouldn't try to escape a pain so constant?  
  
But they'd tried alone for long enough. He needed help. Ron needed help. Before something irreparable cracked down the middle.  
  
***  
  
“You realise, Harry, that nothing might ever return Ron to how he was before this started?”  
  
When it had boiled down to it, there was only one person he could reach out to that wasn't family – that wasn't wrapped up in their tangled little web. The one person who had detached after the war.  
  
“I know, Severus.”  
  
He said it, but in truth he'd never considered it before. He'd assumed that once he sought help, maybe got Ron on some medication and got him talking to someone professional, things would go back to the way they'd always been before.  
  
“There's something about depression which changes the every fabric of your soul. I know you've felt it, I know I have. And Ron is very ill. I still think you should enlist proper help from St Mungo's.”  
“He'd never forgive me.”  
“Harry...” Severus shook his head. “Have you ever thought that maybe he's desperate for you to make the decision? That he can't do it himself and he needs you to look after him, to step up and take control of this situation?”  
“How can I know that?” Harry huffed. “Without potentially fucking it all up?”  
“You can't.”  
“Fucking great.”  
  
“But you can discuss it now, before...”  
“Don't finish that sentence!” he cried. “Don't. I can't bear it.”  
“There's a reason why you're here, Harry, and we both know it's because you're terrified. You don't ask for help until you get to this point which has always been a fault of yours. I hoped you would grow out of it.”  
“Sod off.”  
  
Harry scratched his head. Severus looked at him for what felt like forever, but eventually sighed and got to his feet.  
  
“I can give you potions. You must monitor them. Don't leave him alone with them. Every single one could kill him if he takes too much but they are the only thing that'll help.”  
“Well, if there was the Wizarding World in a nutshell, that'd be it. Helpful but life-threatening.”  
  
Harry also got up. He and Severus had had their moments since the war. Screaming arguments. Tearful conversations. But he had never been more grateful to the man who had been in love with his mother than that moment.  
  
“You must love Weasley to the ends of the earth to go through this with him.”  
  
Finding himself blinking away tears, Harry nodded.  
  
“That's good, Harry. It's what they would have wanted for you. To feel love such as that.”  
“I don't want to lose it. I can't lose it. I can't.”  
  
His throat was burning.  
  
Severus pressed a bundle into his hands. “You won't. If I have to sit on Weasley myself, I will not let you lose him.”  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
“You'd best get back.”  
“I know. I'm sorry for the stupid time, Severus.”  
“You know I don't sleep. Might as well make use of the fact.” Severus gave him as much of a tight smile as he was able. “Go home, Harry. Save him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Let me photograph you in this light, in case it is the last time that we might be exactly like we were.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings / Content: Suicidal ideation, angst, depression/anxiety, disassociation, language.

“Ron. Please open the door.”  
  
Harry was resting his forehead against the cool, shiny wood. He had his fingers curled around the door knob for all the good they were doing. Whatever Ron had spelled the bathroom door with, Harry couldn't break it.  
  
He'd thought the discussion had gone far too well. Ron had listened to him with an open expression. He'd taken the potions in hand and looked at them thoughtfully. He'd nodded and agreed with Harry when he'd said that it had gone too far, and he couldn't cope. They'd spent a quiet night together and gone to bed at the same time. Harry remembered Ron falling asleep first.  
  
But it was four hours later and Ron had locked himself in the bathroom; Harry was terrified.  
  
“Ron.” He banged his other palm flat against the door. “Please. I love you. I need to know you're okay.”  
  
He smashed against the door a few more times before giving in to the little moan which escaped his lips. He stumbled slightly when it opened and he had to right himself before he landed face-first on their carefully chosen bathroom floor.  
  
Ron was in front of him: pale, red-eyed, but alive.  
  
Harry tried hard to contain the surge of emotion which rocked through him at the sight of Ron. He rubbed his hand over his mouth.  
  
“I'm sorry, Harry.”  
“Don't be sorry. Be alive.”  
“I am.”  
“Are you going to stay that way?”  
  
Ron seemed to sway where he stood. He seemed unable to answer. Harry shook his head and put his hands up to frame his boyfriend's face.  
  
“It's okay. It's okay. I'll keep you that way.”  
“Can you do that?” Ron's face creased. “Not sure I can manage it on my own.”  
  
Grabbing him properly, Harry stuffed his face into Ron's shoulder.  
  
He held his breath until Ron hugged him back. Long fingers sank into his hair and carefully cradled his head. He relaxed further when warm lips kissed his forehead. Harry didn't comment as Ron began to sway him from side to side.  
  
“What're we going to do?” Ron whispered brokenly to him. He sniffed hard. Harry clung onto him a little tighter.  
“We're going back to bed,” Harry said decisively.  
  
Keeping hold of Ron's hand, he led the way back to their bedroom, which was dark and chilly. He lit a few candles above the head of the bed and straightened the duvet out. Ron climbed in with his limbs heavy and his face pained. Harry fussed for a while, rearranging the pillows behind Ron's back and making sure he was properly tucked in.  
  
Shivering, he got in on the other side and leant against Ron's shoulder.  
  
“I'm... I never meant for it to get this bad,” Ron said in a desolate voice. “I tried so hard to stop it but... it's all got fucked anyway. I'm sorry you're having to deal with this... me.”  
“I know you feel like you have to apologise, but you _don't_ ,” promised Harry. “You really don't. I love you and all I want is for you to feel better.”  
“What if I never get better?” Ron pressed. “What if it's just one long clusterfuck after another? How long before you have enough and leave me?”  
“I'm not going anywhere!”  
“You say that now.” Ron scoffed. “But you weren't very tolerant when I was eighteen and I was depressed. And I had a reason then. That fucking locket.”  
“Hey, that's not bloody fair!” Harry cried. “We were basically kids. I didn't understand how it disturbed you in the way it did. And this is completely different.”  
  
Ron looked down at his legs beneath the duvet and didn't offer anything further.  
  
“And I had to reach out to someone for the benefit of us both. I need help, Ron. And you need help.”  
“I know.” He spoke very quietly.  
“I wish I knew what I could do to make it better.” Harry shook his head. “To make it all go away.”  
  
“I wish you could too, if it helps.”  
  
Despite himself and their situation and mood, Harry laughed.  
  
“Let's try and get some sleep, eh?” he suggested finally.  
  
He was exhausted.  
  
“I don't think I'm going to get off again. You sleep though. I'll go downstairs.”  
“No, stay here.” Harry nervously rubbed his nose. He didn't want Ron where he couldn't see him. “I don't mind.”  
“You don't trust me.”  
“I...” Harry thought carefully about what to say. “I just get scared, Ron.”  
“I wouldn't trust me either to be fair.” Ron shrugged. “Not when every knife is a temptation. I constantly look for things to hurt myself with. How fucking fucked up is that?!”  
  
He shook his head, wearing an expression of disgust clearly reserved for himself alone.  
  
Harry reached over and slid his fingers into Ron's hair. He gently rubbed his scalp and earned a little moan of approval.  
  
“Well, if you're not going to sleep, I'm not either,” he said. “Chuck us that book, will you?”  
  
Ron passed it over. “How many times have you read this, Harry?”  
“It's my favourite.”  
“I know. But you've read it at least five times this year.”  
“Shut your face.”  
  
Harry opened the book on the first page of the opening chapter. Ron stirred next to him before settling down, bringing the duvet up to his chin.  
  
“Harry?”  
“Yup?”  
  
Ron seemed to be struggling to get his words out. Harry lowered the book and looked at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
In the tiniest voice he thought he'd ever heard Ron use, came the question, “Will you read it to me? Your voice makes me feel better.”  
  
Harry felt something warm spreading through his chest.  
  
“Sure.” The word wobbled on delivery. His eyes started to sting.  
  
***  
  
“Are you sure about this?” Harry whispered fervently into Ron's ear.  
“Stop giving me chances to bolt, Harry, it's taking everything I have not to leg it as it is.”  
“I'm sorry, I just... I didn't think you'd want this and I'm scared you're just doing it because you want me to stop worrying.”  
“I _do_ want you to stop worrying. But I understand why you can't. And this... this isn't necessarily going to make you stop either. I don't know, Harry. I'm just trying to do the best I can.”  
“I know, I know. I just don't want you to regret this later.”  
“You deserve to have support through this. I can't ask you to do it alone any more. Not after...”  
  
Harry knew exactly what Ron was referring to. The evening before he'd come home to find Ron on the kitchen floor, dazed and completely disassociated from everything.  
  
It had been scary as all hell to kneel down and see his unfocussed eyes and to not get a reply to anything that Harry said to try and provoke a response. In the end the only thing he'd been able to do was levitate Ron to the bedroom and sit with him until the redhead fell asleep.  
  
When he'd awoken that morning, Ron had been waiting for him, looking terrible, and asking him to get dressed so they could head down to Devon.  
  
He had to admit, the thought of having the support of Ron's family was enticing. He hoped that the knot in his gut might loosen slightly.  
  
“So what's this all about then?”  
  
Arthur Weasley looked between them, more balding than ever and wearing a good natured smile. Molly was standing by the stove making tea for them.  
  
Harry glanced at Ron who had his mouth open but wasn't speaking. His eyes were blank again.  
  
He reached for Ron's hand and took it under the table. Though their relationship was no secret they made the conscious effort to be relatively composed around their family. Not everyone had taken to the idea as well as they would have liked.  
  
“Here we are.” Molly gave them all a mug and then sat down clutching her own. “Are you here to tell us that the ding dong of wedding bells will be ringing soon?” Her smile was a hopeful one.  
  
“No,” Ron grunted. “No...”  
“Then what?”  
“Um...”  
  
Harry felt nauseous as he watched Ron blush. Whether it was finding the right words or the reality of actually doing it, he ached all over to see Ron so flummoxed.  
  
“Ron's not very well,” he said eventually, squeezing hard on Ron's fingers.  
  
 _I'm here. I can do this for you. I love you._  
  
“And we wanted to let you know because we're both in need of a bit of support from everyone whilst we try and get through it.”  
  
Arthur was frowning with worry. “Is it serious?”  
“Yes,” Harry said frankly.  
“What is it?” Molly demanded.  
“I think you'll have seen that he's not himself.” Harry glanced at Ron, who was glowing with embarrassment. “He's been very depressed. He's been resorting to some... shitty coping techniques. He's just started taking some medication to see if it helps.”  
“What medication? Where from?” Molly barked.  
  
Her questions were a little too aggressive for Harry's liking. She looked – much to his horror – annoyed.  
  
“They're from a friend. Very good quality.”  
“Yes, but what?”  
“I don't know exactly. But I trust this person implicitly and know they're the right thing to do for Ron.”  
“Well I think it's a little silly to reach straight for the medication. You just need to get out more, Ron. Get some fresh air every now and then.”  
“Ron gets plenty of fresh air,” Harry retorted. “This isn't going to be solved by a few trots round the park, Molly.”  
“You should socialise more. You spend all your time locked up at home with each other. You should go out with your brothers. I'll tell them to organise a night out-”  
“I don't want a night out,” Ron spoke finally. “I can barely get myself in and out of the shower, and you want me to go out a bit more?”  
“Oh Ron, don't be ridiculous. How hard is it to get in the shower?” She snapped.  
  
Harry had to admit the question had crossed his mind more than once. But then he'd seen Ron bedridden and unable to get up. He'd seen him dissolve into tears when he simply didn't have the energy to rise in the morning.  
  
“Really hard, actually, when you're suffering with chronic depression.” He heard the bite in his tone and started to sweat under his jumper. “You've got no idea what it's been like. How hard Ron's trying.”  
“Clearly not hard enough.”  
  
Mouth open, Harry sat in shock as Molly launched into a somewhat brutal dissection of her youngest son's faults and her theories as to why he was making a mountain out of a molehill about being a 'little bit sad'.  
  
It was absolutely not what he'd been hoping they'd get by reaching out to Ron's parents.  
  
In his hand, Ron's fingers had begun to shake. A proper look at him showed a man seconds from tears and completely losing his composure.  
  
Harry didn't want to give Molly the satisfaction.  
  
“Right, well. You've made yourself perfectly clear.” He got to his feet and let the chair squeal over the kitchen tiles. “We won't keep you any longer.”  
  
Ron remained sitting. He looked as though someone had stunned him.  
  
“Oh there's no need to storm off,” Molly said huffily. “I'm just trying to help.”  
“Really?” Harry found himself laughing in disbelief. “What you just did wasn't helpful. What you just did means I'll be lucky if I get through the night without Ron trying to off himself. But you wouldn't know that, because he's just a 'little bit sad', according to you. You're not the one who has to sit there and mop up the fucking blood.”  
  
Though harsh, his words did their job of stopping Molly in mid-flow. For the first time something akin to actual concern flashed in her eyes and she closed her mouth.  
  
“Ron, come on. Let's go.”  
  
***  
Harry watched his fingers shake wildly as he tried to get the cigarette up to his mouth. He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Neither had Ron, but Ron had been mostly out of it – trapped in his own little bubble of misery where he didn't eat, speak or drink no matter how hard Harry coaxed. Sometimes he cried, sometimes he just stared into space. He'd not taken any of his medication.  
  
They'd not heard from anyone in the family since leaving the Burrow. The only reason he was able to stand outside and smoke a very rare cigarette was because he'd finally made the decision to tell Hermione the whole truth. She'd known the bare bones – she couldn't miss the fact that Ron was a shadow of himself. She said she'd had her suspicions. There was no anger. She'd just jumped in head first and sat with Ron when Harry needed a break.  
  
He blew out a plume of smoke and tipped his head back to look at the sky.  
  
St Mungo's had to be the next step. If anything because Ron would need to officially be signed off from work. Nobody would buy their stomach bug story for much longer.  
  
He jumped when someone knocked on the kitchen window behind him. He saw Hermione gesturing him back inside and Harry let out a tiny sigh of frustration. Five minutes. That's all he'd had to himself.  
  
He ground out his cigarette beneath his shoe and stepped back into the house.  
  
“Snape's here,” Hermione said quietly. “Did you firecall?”  
“Yeah, he's where I'm getting my medication from.”  
“That was a clever idea.”  
“It's been known to happen. Always the tone of surprise.” He gave her a tired grin.  
“I miss Ron,” she blurted.  
“I miss him too.” He shrugged. “But he's still there, still Ron.”  
  
Hermione put her arm around him and kissed his cheek. “You're being fantastic, Harry.”  
“I have to be, I can't rely on his fucking parents, that's for sure.” It was still too sore to really think about it.  
“I don't know what's gotten into her. That's not the Molly I thought I knew.”  
  
Harry made a face.  
  
“Some people, though...” Hermione went on. “They hear the words 'mental illness' and it's an automatic denial. It's not real. It's not a big enough problem. They're just attention seekers.”  
“Ron just wants to hide away and let this eat him up quietly.” Harry swallowed thickly on a burning throat. “He doesn't want to be a burden to anybody. He just wants it to stop and I can't blame him for that. He's anything but an attention seeker.”  
  
Hermione nodded sadly. “I know. I know, Harry. But if they won't be there for him... I guess we'll have to be there enough to cover the fact that they're not.”  
  
Harry gave her a grimace to show he agreed.  
  
“And you know what else I hate?”  
“What?”  
“We're already talking about him like he's not in his own mind, like he's not really here. Talking about him. He hates that.”  
  
“What do I hate?” Ron asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway.  
  
“People talking about you as if you're not here,” Harry said honestly. “Sorry, Ron.”  
He gently touched his hands to Ron's hips and stepped close to him. It surprised him when Ron instigated the kiss. They'd barely shared any physical contact which didn't involve cuddling. Ron hadn't asked for anything more and Harry certainly didn't want to push it.  
  
Harry heard a loud sniff from behind him. They tried not to kiss in front of either of their past flames but he hoped Hermione would forgive them given the extenuating circumstances.  
  
“Potter, did you ask me here just to witness your public displays of affection?” Severus asked from behind Ron. “I have better things to be doing.”  
“Oh don't be such a miserable sod. Cheer up a bit!”  
  
It took Harry a little to realise that it was Ron, and not himself, that had spoken. When he looked up, Ron was even grinning – wearing the first true smile that Harry had seen in days.  
  
Ron broke away from him rubbed nervously at his nose. Then, blushing, he hurried away upstairs.  
  
“That was very Ron-like,” Hermione whispered.  
“Well, yes, Weasley did always have all the charm of a decapitated troll,” Severus agreed with a roll of his eyes.  
  
Harry was left staring up the stairs in Ron's wake. He listened to the creaks overhead as Ron entered their bedroom. Suddenly a massive yawn tore out of his mouth and he sagged against the door frame.  
  
“You're shattered.”  
“And you are _so_ observant,” Harry retorted through another yawn.  
“Really, Potter, I'm so thrilled you invited me. I'd forgotten how delightful it is so spend the night being insulted.”  
“Forgive Harry's terrible manners.” Hermione prodded him in the shoulder. “Go to bed, Harry.”  
  
He didn't need much persuading. He stumbled halfway up the stairs in his haste and swore to himself as he dragged himself back up. The bedroom was dark, Ron had closed the curtains. Harry knelt onto the bed and crawled over to where Ron lay with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Hey.” He let himself fall with a grunt and put his head on Ron's shoulder.  
“Sorry. I was rude.”  
“Y'know this is how I know you're really ill.” Harry smiled to himself. “Because normal Ron doesn't apologise for being a bit of a dickhead.”  
  
Ron didn't reply to that. Harry wished he'd not said anything.  
  
“It's so confusing,” he said finally. “I mean... how do you know which is the real you?”  
“What d'you mean?” Harry frowned.  
“Well... which me is the real me? The one who's a rude bastard or this one, who can't speak in full sentences and who wants to cry all the time?”  
“I think maybe it's not as black and white as all that. You're Ron. My Ron is rude, sweet, hilarious, grumpy, miserable, strong, passionate... he's all of those things. And just because you're unwell now doesn't mean you'll feel this way forever.”  
“What if I'm never back to how I was before?”  
  
Harry swallowed, thinking about what Severus had said when he'd first reached out for help.  
  
“If you're not, then it doesn't matter. If you are, and you're happy with that, then great. It's... we're not going to guess how things'll play out here, lying in the dark in the middle of the afternoon, whilst Hermione makes dinner downstairs and Snape lurks about like some sort of surly home help.”  
  
Ron snorted at that and broke into a low chuckle. Harry wanted to, but forced himself not to make a big deal out of it. He'd read something about not making a big fuss when a depressed person showed signs of their former self or a good mood.  
  
“Can I ask you something, Harry?”  
“Of course.”  
“Why did you choose him?”  
“Well... I'm glad I did given your mum's reaction. She'd just have sent me back with a leaflet on healthy eating.”  
“Be serious.”  
“He was the only person I could think of that wouldn't rush over here and smother you or force me to take you to the hospital... I knew that wouldn't help. And I knew he'd help me, because he's helped me all my life whether I knew it or not. And I guess... I just assumed he'd understand why I wanted to keep it quiet and would understand... how much you mean to me.”  
  
Ron was quiet for a while before saying, “Thank you, Harry.”  
“For what?”  
“Doing what I couldn't. I tried so many times. Remember that time I didn't come home from work until midnight and you were beside yourself and you hollered yourself hoarse at me?”  
“Yes.” Harry winced.  
“I was sitting outside St Mungo's all night. Trying to go in. Every time I got close to the mannequins I just lost my bottle. I kept thinking of that ward and Lockhart and Neville's parents.”  
“That ward is for people with severe mental capacity issues, Ron. They wouldn't have put you there.”  
“I was afraid that they would. My dad had a cousin that went to St Mungo's because she was hearing voices. They kept her in for months. Not in that ward, but one like it, and the way she talked about it...” Ron shuddered. “It was like hell on earth. Locked up for your own safety. Never trusted with anything. She was never the same again after they let her out, apparently. I've never forgotten that. I was easy to scare as a child.”  
  
“No, can't imagine you would forget that. But I wouldn't let them lock you up.”  
“Even if it was for my own good?”  
“It won't be. I promise you.”  
  
Ron looked doubtful. Harry didn't blame him.  
  
“Just... reverse it.”  
“Eh?”  
“Just turn it around in your brain. If this was me, would you let them take me away?”  
“No fucking way,” Ron swore.  
“Well, now you know where I am.”  
  
Nodding, Ron blinked hard a few times.  
  
Harry yawned again and rolled over, rummaging in his bedside table for something which would help knock them both out. He lifted a vial and squinted at it; it was either dreamless sleep or a potion to stop diarrhoea. So they might finally sleep or neither of them would shit for a week, but he was so tired he'd take that chance.  
  
“Here.” He worked the cork out with his thumb and downed half the potion. “I think we could both down with a bloody good kip.”  
  
Ron obediently opened his mouth and let Harry pour the draught down his throat. He swallowed and opened his arms up to Harry again.  
  
“I'm 99% sure that was dreamless sleep,” Harry promised, cuddling into Ron's side. “But if not, at least we'll save money on toilet paper this month.”  
  
Ron creased up and Harry joined him, loving the feeling of their bodies colliding as he half-rolled on top of his gangly ­boyfriend.  
  
He let Ron instigate the kiss but fully enjoyed it when it deepened. He kept his body completely pliable as long limbs wrapped around him and trapped him in place before rolling him onto his back. They were wrestling quietly together, never breaking the kiss and Harry, despite everything which was going on, couldn't help but respond to Ron in a very physical way.  
  
When it became apparent, Ron fell still and blushed.  
  
“Well, you've not done the shy virgin act for a long time.”  
“Sorry. I just... I wasn't going there, and now I look like a massive dick because _your_ massive dick clearly wants to come out and play.”  
“You think I have a massive dick?” Harry said giddily and then smirked.  
  
Ron sucked nervously on his lower lip for a while and then managed another small smile.  
  
“I'm sorry?” he offered again.  
“I told you to stop apologising.”  
“Well, you're just gonna have to accept that I'll keep on saying sorry until it's over.”  
“That could be a lot of sorry.”  
“I know. I'm apologising for that, too.”  
“Ron.” Harry groaned. “Please. I don't need your apologies. I'm here because I want to be and I love you.”  
  
Ron closed his eyes.  
  
It was beautiful to watch his words sink in. They had such a soothing effect on the tension in Ron's freckled forehead and the creases around his eyes and mouth.  
  
“I do, really, really love you.”  
“That's not always going to work you know?” Ron glanced at him. “That sometimes, no matter what you say, it doesn't sink in. It doesn't cut through it.”  
“Yeah, I remember the night before we went to your parents'. I know. So let me say it whilst it works. Let me say it when I feel it, and I think you want to hear it.”  
“Everyone wants to hear that they're loved.” Ron made a face. “There's literally no bad time to hear that.”  
“Except for when you're close to topping yourself and it could tip you over the edge.”  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows and conceded with a nod.  
  
Harry sighed and rubbed his hands up and down Ron's upper arms.  
  
“Hey.”  
“What?”  
“Are you at all sleepy yet?” Harry asked with a grimace.  
“Oh, shit.”  
“Well, someone should. We won't be for at least a week.”  
  
Ron's laugh was louder that time and he accidentally spat a little in Harry's face.  
  
His face transformed. His blue eyes gained some of their usual life.  
  
What he had to lose smacked into him hard. Something was making his throat hot. Harry tightened his grip on Ron's arms.  
  
“Harry... we're going to get through this.”  
“Are we?”  
“Yeah.”  
  
He couldn't speak. He had so much to lose and he was only then realising just how much.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
